


Mourn Me

by Lann_the_cleverest



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lann_the_cleverest/pseuds/Lann_the_cleverest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this for a prompt request - "Mourn Me" which was requested by SatinFromOldTown.<br/>In this fic Tyrion and Sansa decided to return to their marriage when he returned to Kings Landing with Dany, and returned to Winterfell.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Mourn Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImhereImQuire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImhereImQuire/gifts).



> I wrote this for a prompt request - "Mourn Me" which was requested by SatinFromOldTown.  
> In this fic Tyrion and Sansa decided to return to their marriage when he returned to Kings Landing with Dany, and returned to Winterfell.

He had died.  All of her hard work, returning to her marriage and making it grow as mother had once advised and now she was truly alone.  She was still knelt on the bed where she had found him, the sheets stained red, red, red.   _Lannister red_ , he would have said, this husband of her's who had gone to meet his gods. 

He had been asleep when they had come for him, whoever it was who had killed him - they were still searching the castle for the assailant, but it was too late for Tyrion.  She smoothed back his hair, the ruin of his face now matched by the red ruin of his throat.  She did not flinch from the blood, nor the scar – in life it had twisted his mouth when he smirked, or when he smiled for her, at her, but now he was relaxed, his features slack, she realised how fond she had grown of his face, even the terrible wound that had made her sob on her wedding day.

He had come back to her from across the sea, and when she had stunned him with her request that they stay wed ( _what else would she have done – he was the only one who had never taken from her, even though he wanted as much as Petyr ever had_ ) he had taken her back to the North where they were the Lannisters-in-Winterfell, removed from the final dregs of the war which felt a world away.  They had grown to care for one another, their hearts unfreezing as the world froze, sharing evenings lost together in books, papers, accounts, plans for the depths of the winter that was settling around them and their people. 

The blanket emblazoned with their new sigil ( _for she was no longer a Stark, and he was no longer the Lord of the Rock and had no right to it’s sigil_ ) that they had designed together was now blood splattered.  She tucked it closer in about him as she recalled the night she had plucked the pen from his thick fingers and written new words – Roaring Through Winter – for their new family.  It was too soon for those words to be placed on a shroud.  It was too soon for their bed to have death in it.  The first time he had taken her in this very bed, a year’s turn past, he had been so gentle she had cried, and even as they warmed to one another he remained gentle. 

He was gentle, her husband, always gentle with her, and that was how she treated with him now, pulling his blood soaked nightshirt straight and relacing the collar so it covered some of his wound, giving him dignity in death that few had allowed him in life.  She placed his good, strong hand – _was it still warm, or was that just her wish_ \- to the round of her belly where their babe stirred at his father's touch ( _and then she knew it was foolishness she was thinking of, and she found herself blinking back tears_ ).  "I'll raise him well for you," she whispered to him as she moved his hand back to lay across his breast.  It was heavier now, the gentleness of his touch gone as his body began to turn leaden, and she wanted nothing more than to remember him as light and gentle as he had been in life.  As she did with all of her beloved dead.


End file.
